


Restoration

by Sphinxriddle



Series: Fragments of Voss [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Not Beta Read, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sphinxriddle/pseuds/Sphinxriddle
Summary: Sometimes, you need to collect unholy amounts of flax for plant oil so a friend can help rebuild his countrysometimes you dont want to worry about enemies sneaking up on you while your doing it.and sometimes thats a very fun excuse to bring your most dear dragoon friend into the shroud for some fun
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Fragments of Voss [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513865
Kudos: 53
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Estinien Wyrmblood x WoL Recommendations





	1. The Shroud

The Black Shroud was colored golden, this late into the afternoon. The setting sun painting the canopy alight with brilliant rays, a select few breaching it and fluttering to the floor below. Where, upon the cold hard ground, sat Danica Voss, Warrior of Light and current plant gathering fiend looking to supply the entire population of the City State of Ishgard with a bundle of flax each. Apparently. 

She laughed, the thought of walking around handing a bundle of plants to every soul in the city was comical to her, even if in reality these plants would go towards a far more industrial purposes. The restoration of said city. She smiled, taking her implements and striking the plants free, tearing them from their life's blood of the soil and placing their slowly drying corpses into a basket nearby. 

She threw herself into this work for many reasons. She’d been asked, for one, by a friend. Francel’s plea fell on far from deaf ears and she’d been working tirelessly since then. Two, she considered Ishgard her home now as well, even if she was a child of Gyr Abania. The frigid city state held a sizable number of those she cared for, and she’d do anything to see their lives made better. Three, it was a distraction. A very good, serviceable and productive distraction, even if it was exhausting. Not that she’d admit she even needed one. 

Her swift and brutal execution of the plants into a useful, and easily transported form was down to a rhythm. Grab. Cut. Wrap. Store. Grab. Slice. Wrap. Store. Grab. Butcher. Wrap. Store. Grab. Slaughter. Wrap. Store. 

Rustling from a nearby tree startled her from her measured thoughts. Eyes snapping towards the sound, she found only her appointed guard for the day, one very bored Estinien Wyrmblood. His arms crossed over his chest, leaning upon the trunk of said tree, brooding. She gave him a light smile, thankful for his presence allowing her to focus more on her work, before standing and heading to the next patch of plants.

Ser Wyrmblood, for his part, was growing more and more tired by the moment. Not out of some desire to sleep, but out of some desire to do anything but watch the albeit pretty backside of his fellow dragoon as she did naught but dig around in the dirt. He followed behind her in a huff, arms crossed, eyes lingering where they pleased dreading every crack of a branch and every snap of an elastic around a bunching of material.

“Do you plan on finishing anytime soon, or do you plan on building your next spear from flax My Lady?” His voice held little bite, he knew vitriol was worthless here. She was a creature of stubborn habit, unmoving once she had made up her mind. The stars could be swallowed by the inky black sky before she decided to rethink her plans. Some still remained however, for who was he but just as bullheaded of a man. 

“No, I’m afraid not.” she chided, laughing slightly. This was the fifth time he’d asked her such a thing in the past four hours. Reaching for her bag, she pulled a well worn notebook, its spine fraying and pages suddenly very dirty from her worn hands. She flipped through it slowly, languid and relaxed, god’s she was so very very far from done. 

He groaned, leaning his head back against a tree and closing his eyes. Of course she was far from done! “Why are you doing this endless task anyway, Danica?” He hissed, with more force than he intended. “It’s not like Ishgard is your home.” Her hands stalled, and he immediately regretted the words that flew from his mouth. 

She had taken no offense, his fears were misplaced, instead she found herself enveloped by the that very question. Why? Why was she doing this. For a place she was no child of. Should she not be working towards Ala Mhigos revival? Should she not be upon the Loch, among the peaks, dancing among the fringes?

Yes, and no. Home. The answer lay in her definition of home. She smiled, and looked back at him with a gentleness in her eyes that relayed her hearts thoughts. 

“Home... Home is where my friends, my family, people I care about are, not some geographic location Estinien.” She laughed, looking back to the sadly butchered plant in her hand. Her distraction causing its poor useless end. “And Ishgard, due to sheer number of people who’ve earned that “I care about you” status, wins out and gets to call itself home.” 

He felt a smile tug at his cheek at her honestly romantic philosophy. He scowled the moment it registered. He looked away from her small form with a huff, letting her word stew more than he would care to admit. When he spoke again, it was a light whisper. 

“Mind sharing the list?” 

She smiled, once again putting down her tool to look up at her guard for the day. She was used to his little games, if she could call them that. His desire for attention and affection and down right refusal to just ask for it. Or any confirmation ever. She had her own little game to play in return, her smile took a mischievous tint to it. 

“Let’s see... The Fortemps of course, they’ve done so much to aid me and the other scions” She raised a finger, than another. “My father of course, Stephanivien, Francel, Sid, Rielle, Aymeric, Lucia, Hilda...” she left the words hang as she continued to raise fingers for each name. Purposefully leaving his name absent, hanging. She watched his arms twitch, she watched him try to avert his eyes from hers, to hide his mounting sorrow. Ah, this was too cruel, even for her.

Her simple games and cruelties, he exhaled hard and closed his eyes. 

“There was another, a dragoon, but he chose to go wandering - taking his substantial chunk of home with him as he went. He’s hard to pin down.” His head snapped back to her, a teasing smile on her lips. “The times he is with me, though, tis the most at home I’ve ever felt. I’m honestly surprised he’s stayed so long, considering I’m doing naught but busy work. I’m sure there are grander things for him to be doing.”

“I’m here because you asked it of me.” He responded quickly, taking a step forward, heart beating wildly like it did anytime she would play with his heart. Always only to wrap it in the soothing embrace of her words, and often her arms as well. “I haven’t a clue why, but you asked thus I am here.” 

Her smile was that which could start, and end, wars. That could light torches and ignite stars. And when she looked at him, that brilliant shining smile made new, fresh, and slightly dirt covered, his stern, brooding image fractured for a spell. Shuffling closer, he sat next to her as she worked, gently wiping a bit of mud from her face. A silence returning to them both that kept them warm much like a blanket. Even as clouds began to gather overhead.


	2. Steel Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I told you things would get spicy

A clap of thunder startled Voss from her continued silent work, just fast enough to see the first wave of the sudden torrential rain come crashing down upon both she and Estinien. Ah, just a regular day in the shroud. She smiled, even as her companion groaned, and returned to her work without much thought. Rain may have been starting to soak her to the core, but hells, she had fought in worse. 

Like in a Coerthan blizzard, or a sandstorm, both things that made her shiver. 

Estinien stood, looking for any shelter from the rain like a man who might just melt under it. Stuffing his already dripping hair into his helm in a last ditch effort to keep dry after the “shelter” of a nearby branch just proved to be home of larger drops splatting upon his brow. 

“Perhaps, Voss, we should seek shelter.” He suggested, muffled by his helm. She shook her head no, wrapping a damp bundle of leaves together and hoping her small bursts of aether would be enough to dry them out and stop them from rotting in her pack. “Voss, you won’t be able to get much work done soaked to the bone and sickly, you know.”

“But Work will not wait for me, Estinien.” She responded, nearly dropping her tools into the mud. “I’ll get this done, rain or shine” He shrugged, disappointed but unsurprsied his suggestions were ignored. Stubborn as an ox she was, something they had in common. He returned to his search for some salvation from the downpour, while she began to hum in her work. Pleasant, save for the rain.

By ten or so minutes of this constant torrent, Ser Wyrmblood was at his wits end. 

“I’m setting up camp.” He announced, removing his helm and emptying the water from within. “If you wish to stand out here, fine, but I will not stand out here in this maelstrom any longer.” 

“Alone mind you, I shall be too busy drying off to keep watch.” He’d be lying if he said those last words were anything other than a last ditch effort to get her to relent. For the two of them to return to civilization and warm hearths and ale and beds. She simply smiled up at him, that kind of tired, broken smile he’d seen her use so often of late. The one that hurt his heart to see, and he knew his words were for naught.

“Set camp if you must, I’ll enjoy your company even if we’re separated by the walls of a tent.” She returned to her work, and for a moment he was thankful. She couldn’t see the light flush spreading upon his cheeks at her gentle complements. Though from her light chuckle he knew she knew it was there. Bastard. 

Practiced hands made short work of the tent, quickly finding himself warmer, much more dry, wrapped in a blanket and devoid of his soaking clothes piled upon a rock just outside the tents entrance. Perfect. Almost. He sat up on their bedrolls, spread out upon the tents floor as a cushion, and watched her silhouette illuminated by the occasional strike of lightning. She really came prepared didn’t she? How long did she expect to stay? Or did she just take this stuff everywhere? 

Prone to Brooding, he sat in the dark and merely continued to muse on those thoughts. And on the gently rising worry bubbling in his gut over his partner Dragoon. Stalwart, strong, mischievous to a fault, always ready with a smile or a punch. She was more inscrutable than before, more unsure. Curious and terrifying in one fell swoop.

Occasionally, his thoughts were interrupted by muted swearing as Danica, outside, dropped her tools onto the muddy ground again and again. Hands growing slick from the rain and slippery from her many attempts to keep a strong hand upon them. Each muttered curse brought a small twinge of a smile to his face, though she had no need to know that.

Eventually, a louder curse denoted when she had simply had enough. Nearly stabbed herself with her sickle, she threw it to the ground unceremoniously, creating a small splash of mud that covered her shirt and her hands. She leaned back, looked to the sky, and loudly groaned. Her cries to the heavens were met only with the ghost of a laugh from inside the tent. Aye, he won this time. 

Standing, she returned her hoe to her bag, cleaned her mud covered hands upon her pants, and made her way to the tents entrance. As she went to open it however, she found her efforts blocked. The stern eyes of Estinien peaked out from the bastion of warmth and dryness and huffed in her general direction. 

“Too wet to enter.” He muttered, retreating into the bastion, and holding the entrance close with one strong hand. Looking down at herself, she could not help but agree with a chuckle. She was dripping and covered in both water and mud. Not exactly something you’d want cuddled in a bed roll nearby. Her hair, the most notable signifier, could be wrung out if she dare try. 

“So, you want me to stay out here because im wet, even if staying out here will only make me  _ more  _ wet?” She teased, already working at the laces of her shirt.The only thing she wasn’t quite sure of was leaving their clothing out in the rain. But hey, she was pretty sure she brought a spare change of clothing in her bag. She heard him chuckle inside.

Quickly freeing herself of her sopping mess she called work clothes, she once more tried to enter. Only to yet again be barred by the strong hand of her fellow dragoon. His head poked out of the tents canvas for a singular second, her stern face concealing a mischievous glint as he gave her another once over. Watching her shivering form in the rain with the appreciative eye of a craftsman.

“Too wet to enter.” he repeated, that glint spreading into a sly smile across his face. Crossing her arms, she shook her head, picking up what he was putting down. Laughter welled in her heart, a smile on her face as she started at her small clothes.

“If that’s what you wished, you needed only to ask you know.” He merely shook his own head, ah where would the fun be in being direct? Especially with ones as bullheaded as the two of them. A little game to get events rolling. She paused at her bottoms, looking up at him with a sudden seriousness that startled him. “One condition for me to continue,” 

She spoke, though he was far too enthused with how the rain traced fine lines down her body to hear. “What ever dry shirt you have squirrelled away in there is mine now.” she finished, hooking her fingers into her bottom before he even had the chance to reply. Not that he had any intent to deny her request, the familiar sight of her lounging about in one of his shirts, too big for her, sliding off one of her strong shoulders, was enchanting even as just an image in his mind's eye. He nodded the affirmative just as she flung her undergarments atop the distant pile. 

Pushing through the tents entrance, she all but tackled Estinien. Smiling wide in the warmth of the dry tent, even as her hair dripped down her back. He laughed, equal parts surprised by her sudden zest and relieved to finally have her in his arms, atop his lap, wet hair and all. 

“I was going to demand you dry your hair some way,” he wheezed, as her arms pulled the very air from his lungs with her strong hug. One arm wrapped tightly around her back, while the other traced her jaw, flicking away stray droplets of water as he went.“but I was growing far too frustrated with you so far from my arms.” He all but whispered, his forehead pressed to hers.

The smile that lit her face was brilliant and true, and gone far too quickly. Even as he lamented its loss, he hungered for what replaced it. Dropping his hand from her face to wrap tightly around her back as she kissed him with such vigor that he all but forgot the temporary sense of loss, for there were sure to be more smiles later. Pulling her closer. Pressing her warm form to his. 

If only they could spend an eternity like that, with naught but the heavy rain as background noise to their passionate affection. If only Danica didn’t have a heroic streak nearly as big as midgardsormr, if she’d stop for a moment and think of herself, or did the mother crystal even allow her such fancies. He decided he cared not, for now. Idle fantasies fit for romance novels could be dreamt at other times. Especially when the present reality was much more of an active pull on his mind.

Blood rushing, burning, and building as hands wandered the crevices of each others bodies. Forgoing the gentle placid land of chaste kisses for that of wandering lips and devious intent. Her hands dragged down his chest, nails digging in ever so slightly, oh how well she knew him. The light ache causing him to inhale sharply, and the already noticeable tent in his unfortunately still present small clothes to grow yet still.

Her hands lingered there, resting upon the cloth that separated his so called “other lance”. She had laughed the one time he’d said that, he could still remember the way her nose scrunched up and her face went red, how she-

His jaunt through memory lane was interrupted as she simply danced her fingers over that very same fabric. He groaned, abandoning his own work upon her shoulder to tilt his head back and close his eyes. She smiled, leaning forward to drag her lips down his exposed neck. That same sweet laughter echoed through the tent as she brought her lips to his jaw, then to his ear. The sweetest lit notes of joy. The most determined caresses. He could do naught but react, like clay in her hands.

“Hm...” she hummed into one of his slim, pointed ears. “Seems we’ve another bit of soaked clothing that should be thrown to the forest.” He opened his mouth to retort, but found words unavailable, instead giving the half elezen warrior a breath moan which she took as agreement. A truth, and a request he was too glad to make a reality. 

Springing free from the confines of cotton, his weeping interest grew yet more interested in the events at hand. Especially as said partners hand wrapped gentle around it, a smile on her lips, her spare hand upon his chest. 

She was but a merciless tease, one he absolutely adored. Even as he moaned into her touch, leaning forward to press his head to her neck. Thrusting in time into her hand, growing more and more desperate. She is a tease, yes, but she’s never been cruel. 

Though, perhaps she was in need of a reminder. From his perch in the crook of her neck, he dared to test his luck. First dragging his lips down the skin, then digging his teeth in. A distracted gasp left his fellow dragoon, but yet, she pushed on in her slow torture. He’d need to be a bit more drastic if he wanted to move things along. 

He slowly dragged his hands down her body, intent on not taking his time, as she had chosen to do. Taking in the depths of her body, with first one finger - met with another beautiful gasp -, than two - met with a muffled moan. Attempting to add a third, even as she squirmed atop the other two was met with an arm of his, and her other abandoning the third polearm between the two. 

He smiled, a victory on his lips, his prize finally ready for the taking. Removing his fingers from her on command, he brought his lips to hers once more, ready for whatever the gift may be. 

She doesn’t take long to decide. Dropping down upon him and riding him with a fury and hunger that bordered on feral. One she was willing to let the world hear, driving him just as mad. Grasping at her hips, he met her every drop with a thrust of his own. A dance, a battle, no this was but a simply, brutal, bonding that echoed through the woods.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if they had been heard all the way in the city, hells all the way in  _ Doma _ with their chorus of breathy moans and screams. Their ferocity brings them both to a steady completion, grunting and panting, sweating and moaning. Joining each other in one final collapsed mess of kisses and weak touches as his body shuddered and exhaled. Releasing what it held for her. 

Falling back upon his bedroll, he dragged her down with him. Wrapping strong arms around her, warm and suddenly oh so sleepy. The rain now a sweet song to sleep to. At least, his eyes felt heavy, by the wild laughter echoing from Danica’s mouth, he doubted she was. Finally stopping, resting her hand upon his chest, feeling his heartbeat, she put words to her energy.

“I hope the rain doesn’t stop anytime soon.” 

He chuckled in response, tangling his fingers in her wet hair. “If thats what you wish, you need only ask”

She looked up at him and smiled, “But where's the fun in that?” 


End file.
